by Edwina Fort
“Not to worry, sweetheart, I’m going to take good care of you.”
She grinned at him showing off the places where she used to have teeth, but nothing was left but black rotting flesh.
“What happened next?”
“He asked me if I had seen you, West or Angel. I told him that I had seen Angel a week ago and that she told me that she went to her foster father for help getting away from her abusive boyfriend. And then I paused like I just realized that he was the abusive boyfriend and acted like I didn’t want to say nothing else.” She cackled, the sound grated on Stan’s nerves, causing him to bite down on his teeth to keep from yelling for her to shut the f*ck up!
“But then another fine brotha in a really nice suit handed me five hundred dollars and bebe, I started singing like a canary! I told them that she asked you to help her find West. I told them that it was her idea to get him thrown into jail in order to buy y’all some time. That’s when I thought he was going to snap my goddamn neck. He was pissed! I told him if I knew where y’all was I would tell him because it was wrong how y’all did him. He bought all that sh*t so I got the hell on out of there before he changed his mind.”
She held up her hands. “And here I am, mission accomplished.”
If you’ve ever heard the screech of a cat in the middle of the night, you’ve heard Cheryll’s voice. Although it pained him to do so, Stan smiled because she'd done well. If not for her, getting to this point would have been twice as hard. It was a shame he now had to kill her. However, he couldn’t risk even the smallest thing going wrong with his carefully thought out plan.
After years of waiting, Angel was his…
And he owed it all to the letter he’d received in the mail a month ago from a writer, who preferred to remain anonymous. They explained the trickery Hitta used to trap Angel. How he’d planted the money for Westly to conveniently stumble across, only to then come back and confront Angel for the missing loot. She’d fallen into his dirty hands hook, line and sinker.
Well, not anymore. Stan had set his beautiful butterfly free. It didn’t take much for him to make the beach house look as if Westly was staying there.
What was that?
You guys are wondering why he chose the beach house?
Well… this was the most brilliant part of his plan. He’d won it in a poker game about eight years ago from a good friend, who had purchased it for his ex-mistress. In order to hide the purchase from his ever-seeking wife, he’d disguised it as a timeshare acquired by his company for employees. The only thing his friend asked was that he keep the house registered as it was, as to not draw the attention of said wife and the IRS.
At the time, Stan didn’t think it was a big deal, so he agreed. Now, he was glad he had. The house could not be traced to him or his family. So if anybody was looking for Angel, they would never think to look there. In order to get Angel there, he’d fed her that bull about him getting custody of Jessie, knowing that it would make her want to seek Westly, which brought Cheryll into play.
It took him nearly two weeks to coach her through what to say. He’d had to balance giving her just enough of the Fentanyl to keep her satisfied, focused…yet willing to come back because she was thirsty for more, while at the same time taking care of his b*tch of a wife.
She was the only thing that kept Angel from loving him back. Knowing years ago, that he was going to have to find a way to get rid of her without divorce so that the twat couldn’t take any of his money, he started adding an untraceable toxin to her daily medication that encouraged the growth of her cancer.
Thanks to the whistleblower that exposed Hitta’s treachery, Diana’s time had run out, he had all the information he needed to trap Angel, which meant he had to speed up his wife’s death by adding another toxin that although traceable, caused her to have a massive heart attack. It took a lot of maneuvering, but he’d managed to get his little additive deleted from the toxicology report.
He chuckled. Damn, he loved it when a plan came together. All that was left was separating Angel from the beast that had all but consumed her. That was the only glitch in his plan. Jail was full of niggas like him. Stan had paid a lot of money for him to get thrown in there and lost in the system. But apparently, the thug had more connections than Stan had originally thought.
He had a member of the black elite on his team, the only son of Wayne Steward, a mogul and owner of a very influential investment firm. Imagine that, this animal had a man working for him, whose family held more power in this city than Stan ever had and ever would. He had Hitta free and walking the streets in no time.
Of course, that little set back rocked Stan and it took him a minute to think his way around it. But thanks to his little crack head, it was a town soon conquered.
“Sh*t! How far outside of the city are we going?” Cheryll grumbled realizing they’d been driving for a while.
“Just a little longer,” he assured her.
After he took care of this last obstacle, he would drive to St. Louis and catch a flight to California. He’d taken a leave of absence under the guise of not quite being able to cope with his wife’s death. Of course all of his colleagues understood because they’d all seen how devoted he was to her as they battled her illness together as a loving couple.
He nearly choked on his mourning act but was willing to do whatever it took to give him the time he needed to convince Angel to be his. He wanted her to love him back. He’d tried everything, buying her beautiful clothes, making sure that she was one of the sharpest dressers in her school, even signing for her to get her Tea Shop. Would have bought it for her if he’d thought she would have accepted it.
But now that there was nothing standing in their way, she will see him for the catch that he really is. Handsome, rich…a doctor, how could she not see it? He didn’t care how long it took, by the time they left that beach house, she was going to be in love with him.
After his anonymous informant told him all about what Hitta had done and was doing to woo Angel, he had to grudgingly admit it was a damn good idea while kicking himself for letting an uneducated savage outthink him.
“We’re here,” he grumbled as he turned off the main road and onto the side one that led to the rundown motel he’d thoroughly researched.
It was heavily used by prostitutes and their johns, so the owner didn’t waste his time or money to make sure things like the security cameras stayed working. His clientele that generally rented rooms by the hour wasn’t big on those anyway.
This place was perfect to implement the last detail of his plan because there was no way that he could be traced back here.
“Here’s two hundred dollars, go and rent a room for the whole night. I’m in a good mood.”
She smiled seductively at him as she took the money. “Okay, baby, I’ll be right back.”
Killing the engine, he watched her disappear inside the smudged glass door that he was sure was decorated with a bullet hole or two.
Angel, I’m on my way, my sweet!
He couldn’t wait to taste her nectar fully. The little sips he’d managed to steal when she lived with them had been torture, like little whiffs of honey to a starving drone bee.
You see, he was well aware that many of you thought he was a pedophile because his desire for her had begun when he’d first laid eyes on her at the tender age of twelve. But he’d like to make one thing perfectly clear.
There was something about Angel…She’d been a beautiful girl, but she was a stunningly alluring woman. She’d been the only woman he’d ever loved. When he made love to his b*tch of a wife, it was Angel’s face he saw as he drove inside of her.
Always Angel’s face…
“Ready?” Cheryll asked throwing the door open.
Stan slid his hands into a pair of leather gloves. “More than you’ll ever know,” he told her before he followed her into room 118.
An hour later, he emerged in the night and slid back behind the wheel of his rental. It was done, afte
r giving her a lethal dose of the Fentanyl, Cheryll was dead. And now he can--
“Well now, ah wasnae expecting for things to go quite so well. Ye made me job mair easier. Thanks, mate.”
The Scottish accent coming from Stan’s back seat caused his eyes to widen as his gaze connected with a strange man’s through the review mirror right before a sharp pain filled his head and everything went dark.
“Aye, Bo! Wake yo’ b*tch ass up!”
Stanly Aiden Baker was very aware that he was a bad man. He knew he preyed on the weak and robbed the needy. There weren’t many doctors who could milk some poor sap who’s afraid of dying, insurance like him.
In fact, he’d just received the Allen Rayne Award for Modern Medicine because of said gift of draining one’s medical insurance for all it was worth, but of course in his field, it’s called Medical Achievement.
That being said, every bad man knows that eventually, he will have to answer for all the wrong that he’s done in life. However, Stanly will argue to his last breath that the way in which the One who holds all accountable for their actions chose to punish him was too extreme to say the least.
When he opened his eyes and saw the raged-filled ones standing over him, he nearly sharted himself. He knew that by some twisted stroke of fate, he’d fallen into the hands of a complete and utter barbarian.
“Damn, Bo, you look like you finna sh*t yo’self.” A wicked smile spread across Hitta’s face and Stan’s spirit tried to leave his body. He would rather be looking down the barrel of a shotgun than to face this monster of a man.
Hitta shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, you been a bad boy, Stanly.”
He stood up straight and turned to address the others in the room. Only then was Stan able to see what was happening around him.
He was sitting in a chair in an abandoned mechanic garage. There were several pieces of old rusted equipment scattered around. The big door at the front of the shop was pulled back and Hitta’s truck sat in front of it. Loud rap music blasted through the open window causing the walls and the floor to vibrate.
There were three men standing with Hitta looking down at him. Stan was able to spot the mogul instantly. The elite carried themselves differently from common folk, and if that wasn’t enough to set him apart, then his style of dress definitely would. Stan, like anyone else who’s had dreams of one day being allowed in that club, had an eye for spotting out men like this in the crowd.
The other two very intimidating men that stood looking down at him were clearly twins. The only thing separating them was the different colors of their linen suits and gloves.
“What should we do with Stanly boy?” The goon and leader of this bunch asked as he slowly circled his chair.
“You can’t do this to—”
“Shut up, b*tch!” Hitta growled in his face causing a feminine squeal to escape Stan's lips before he could catch it. As if mystically cued, the song coming out the Hummer speakers changed. An obnoxious rapper’s voice filled the garage.
“I’m the man right here!”
Stan blinked, wondering if somehow Hitta had a theme song. At this point, he was shaking so badly that the metal chair he sat in tapped out a tune against the cement floor that could be heard over the music.
“Let me tell you how this sh*t gon’ go. I’m gon’ ask you a question. If I don’t like yo’ answer, I’m going to break yo’ jaw…”
Stan cried out again when the angry man jabbed his finger painfully in his cheek. It took him a moment to realize that he hadn’t been punched. That had just been his finger, and it hurt like hell!
Hitta bent down so that his face was only inches from his.
I’m the man right here! Once again filled the garage as if cued.
“Where- the- f*ck- is Angel?!”
“She asked me to do it!” Stan blurted out losing his nerve completely. “She was afraid of you and didn’t know how else to get away from you!”
Through his peripheral, he saw the Scotsman who’d been sitting in his backseat when he’d gotten into his car at the motel chuckle before shaking his head. Something about the gesture made a cold feeling crawl up the back of Stan’s neck. Well, that and the fact that his words only seemed to anger the monster in front of him more.
When Hitta’s nostrils flared, Stan panicked and kept speaking even though everything in his soul told him to remain quiet and play dead like a wise person would do in the face of an angry bear or lion. But dread had a way of making one do foolish things.
“She came to me for help, and I did what I thought was—”
Those were the last words Stan remembered uttering before his face exploded in more pain than he’d ever felt in his entire life. Before he succumbed to the blessed darkness, he wondered how his perfect plan had gone so terribly wrong.
Hitta
Watching this weak neck b*tch crumble to the ground at my feet only angered me more. The rage I felt inside of me was nowhere near assuaged. Not only had this nigga taken Angel and Jessie away from me, he had me locked up in a mutha f**ken cage and paid to get my paperwork lost so that I'm just sitting in that mutha f**ka like a ghost.
It’s been damn near a week since I laid eyes on my Teacup and I felt like I was f**king suffocating. Not knowing if she and Jessie were safe or not was driving me insane. Not to mention I’ve had a week-long migraine that feels as if my f**king head is going to explode. The only relief I get is when I bury my nose in her pillow.
F**k!!!!
I began to pace back and forth in the garage feeling myself about to lose my sh*t! I needed my f**king girl back! We’ve looked everywhere for her. Wayne’s been using all of his resources in searching for possible places Stan could have stashed her.
I’d question Summer’s ass to death, but she couldn’t tell me anything other than what she had. She insisted that the only thing that Angel told her was that she was leaving town but would not say where she was going.
Because I knew that Rome could find out sh*t that Wayne couldn’t, I’ve been blowing his phone up. But of course, the one time I needed him to help me continue to f**king breathe, he was nowhere to be found.
Every cell in my body was commanding me to rip this mutha f**ka lying on the ground apart! Taking deep breaths, I tried to fight my fury.
“She was afraid of you and didn’t know how else to get away from you!”
I clutched my head trying to drown out his whiny ass voice! It was causing my sh*t to pound worse than it ever had.
“She came to me for help…”
A sharp pain filled my chest that actually drowned out the pain in my head. It was the same pain that had filled it earlier when her mother told me the same thing.
God! Could this be true? Did Angel want to leave me?
Thinking, back to the day of the funeral, I couldn’t understand why she was so dead set on going to that house if she hated him so much. I’d tried to talk her out of it. Plus, Summer said that Angel willingly left town.
“She came to me for help…”
A hand on my shoulder caused me to look up. “Hitta, he’s lying! Angel wouldn’t do that.”
Maddox and Lannox nodded agreeing with Wayne. I wanted to believe them, but they weren't in my truck on the day of the funeral. They didn't see how she insisted on going into that f**king house.
A fresh wave of anger filled my veins drowning the pain in my heart, anger I knew and understood.
“Wake this b*tch up!”
Lannox and Maddox picked Stan up off the floor and repositioned him in his chair before reviving him with a smoking match.
As soon as he came through, he yelled out in pain like the ho’ he was. “You shattered my jaw!”
Well… at least I think that’s what he said. It was really a garble of words that spilled through his swollen lips that was getting bigger by the second.
“Shut the f*ck up!” I’d lost all patience. “Where is Angel?!”
“I toth you-“ he began, but I cut his ass right off.
>
“Wrong answer, pu**y nigga!” I channeled all my rage into the blow I sent into his other jaw, feeling the satisfying crunch underneath my knuckles. His head banged back so hard on his weak ass neck it sent his unconscious body slamming to the ground.
I stepped back. “Wake him up!”
This time he came through screaming with blood and saliva dripping from his mouth. Both of his jaws were shattered and he could barely move them. Po’ unfortunate bastard just learned why they call me Hard Hitta.
I leaned down so that my head was level with his. “Stanly, I suggest you start talking. I can do this sh*t all day, bruh.”
Now crying like a baby, he told me what I wanted to hear. “Sheth’s at the beath house! I swear! Pease don’t hit me again! Pease!”
“What f**king beach house?!”
He rattled off the address through his damaged mouth. As soon as he was finished my gaze went to Wayne, who had been typing it on his laptop.
“Got it!” he told me holding up his thumb.
With a satisfied smile on my face, I turned back to this dead man, but as I looked down at him, my smile disappeared.
“Do you know what it took for me not to snap yo’ neck as soon as my boy brought yo’ b*tch ass in here?”
“Pease! I’m sorry! I’ve got money!”
I tilted my head to the side. “Do I look like I need yo’ money, nigga?”
He shook his head. “Justh let me go and I won’t tell anybody! I pomise!”
That made me chuckle. “I’m sorry, Bo, I ain’t got it in me to let you walk away from this sh*t with yo’ life.”
“Pease, don’t kill me!” he cried reaching for my hand bowing over it. I looked down at his head as he begged for his life. I don’t know what disgusted me more about him, the fact that he’d dared to take what’s mine or the fact that he wasn’t man enough to stand on his action.
